“I won. But they gave me a good run for my money.”
“You really should get your instructor belt. You could have had it years ago.”
She waved his words away, leading him back into the kitchen. “I don’t need it. I’m happy with my current belt.”
“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the papers covering the table.
“First term papers of the year.” She held up the paper she was grading. “Believe it or not, one of my students has actually written a good paper. Miracles do happen.”
“So I’ve heard.” He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth.
She frowned. Her uncle could always be counted on to bring up the energy level in a room. Today, though, a worried expression marred his usually upbeat countenance. And his ramrod-straight posture, a remnant of his Marine Corps past and strict exercise routine, was also noticeably absent.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s just …” He looked around the room, anywhere except at her. His eyes stopped on her coffee pot. “Could I get some of that coffee?”
Alarm bells shrieked in her head. Her uncle never drank coffee. Tea, yes, practically by the bucket. But coffee?
She paused before nodding. She knew from experience her uncle would tell her what was going on when he was ready and not before. Growing up, it had frustrated her to no end.
“Of course.” She gestured at the table. “Take a seat.”
In less than a minute, she’d placed a coffee before him. Settling back in her chair, she waited until he took a shaky sip. “Okay, you’re beginning to scare the heck out of me. What’s going on?”
He sighed and looked into her face, a veil of tears in his eyes. “It’s about Drew.”
Her stomach plummeted and she shook her head. “Drew? Nothing’s wrong with Drew. I just spoke with him this morning.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his surprise and intensity evident. “You did? What did he say?”
Laney recounted their conversation. “So I told him I’d review the paper, and get it back to him tomorrow.”
Patrick’s shoulders drooped at the words. He reached out, taking both of Laney’s hands in his. “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart. I got a call from a colleague of mine out at Saint Paul. Drew…”
Laney tried to pull her hands away and ignore the icy fingers of fear that ran down her back. “Of course it’s necessary. I promised him I’d get it back to him.”
She could feel his hands trembling, and tears now ran down his cheeks. She felt a catch at the back of her throat as her own tears threatened.
“I’m sorry, honey. Drew died this morning. He committed suicide.”
CHAPTER 4
Her uncle wanted to stay, but Laney needed to be alone. She needed to grieve, yell, break things. And if her uncle were here, she’d be focused on him and how he was reacting. She needed to be selfish. Just for tonight.
Outside on the porch, he hugged her tight. “I’ll be back in the morning, right after 7:30 Mass. I’ll bring bagels, okay?”
Laney concentrated on keeping her voice even. “Sounds like a plan.”
Patrick gave her one last look. She knew if she showed any sign of despair, he’d never leave. “I’m okay. I just need some time to myself.”
He reached up and kissed her on the cheek. “You call me if you need me, okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. She knew if she opened her mouth, the ocean of tears she was holding back would burst forth. He headed down the porch stairs to his car. She watched until he drove off.
Her legs shook as she walked back into the house. Tears began to rain down her cheeks. She focused on the stairs. Just make it to the stairs, she ordered herself. Just there.
Her knees gave out just before she reached them. Pulling herself to the bottom step, she collapsed, her back against the wall. The rain of tears was now a waterfall. She squeezed her legs to her chest, as if somehow she could provide herself with some comfort.
This wasn’t possible. He was fine this morning. There was nothing in his voice to indicate he was that desperate… Was there?
She replayed the conversation in her mind. She shook her head. No, something was wrong here. There was nothing to suggest he was suicidal. He was the most upbeat person she’d ever known. He wouldn’t have killed himself. Her conviction drove her to her feet.
“He wouldn’t have killed himself,” she said, needing to hear the words out loud.
She walked into the kitchen, swatting at the tears on her cheeks. Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, she took a long drink. Okay, if he didn’t kill himself, it must have been an accident. But what happened? She knew the police wouldn’t reveal any information to her. But…